become comfortable firing the M-4. I show them how to change magazines and to reload individual mags.
Robert lies on the ground next to us, popping a round and then making an adjustment on the sight. I see him fire a few rounds without stopping to adjust and then nod with satisfaction. He goes through the same process with the aiming device attached to the top, front of the rail; nodding once again as he becomes satisfied with his settings. With the girls now feeling somewhat comfortable, I kneel with Mike at my side and begin sighting in my own M-4. We switch to the M-9’s and begin the sighting-in process again. The sounds of firing eventually diminish and come to stop.
“Everybody good?” I ask in the ensuing silence. A smattering of “good here” and nods answer.
We disassemble and clean our guns, teaching how to break the weapons down and clean them to those that don’t know how, at covered tables set to along the rear of the long firing line. Reassembling them, we pile back into the vehicles and chase the sun, beginning our journey out of the base and toward the Interstate south. We retrace our route back to McChord wanting to go out of the gate there. I would take the more direct route to the gates of Fort Lewis but I remember those gates being blocked. I’m not sure how blocked they are and what it will take to clear a route so I take the route I know is open. Time still weighs heavily on me and I don’t want to come across anything else that will impede our progress. We come to the guard booths, once again having to traverse over and around the now highly decomposing corpses, just as the phone in my pocket vibrates.
“Are you coming?” The text appears. Yes, it’s from Kelly.
I radio Lynn letting her know we are exiting the base and heading south.
“Okay, Jack. Be careful. See you soon,” she replies over the airwaves.
“Roger that. You too,” I reply.
The afternoon is passing quickly as I begin typing my response to Kelly.
“We’ll be leaving in a few hours. Thinking around eight tonight. Might have to stay the night. Have water and scent-free candles handy.”
The phone vibrates again a short time later as we are coming up on the outer gates.
“That late?”
“I’m moving as fast as I can. You can drive up if you want,” I text back.
“No. We’ll wait for you here,” Kelly texts.
“Okay. Call you when we’re on the way,” I type and press the send button.
Hitting the Interstate, we turn southward once again. This is beginning to feel like I’m driving a mail route. The sun is far too low in the sky for my taste given all that needs to happen between now and when it dips below the western horizon. I can almost literally see it shoot across the sky. Continuing south, we drive past the lower marshlands of the Nisqually Basin. The tide is out and the mud flats are revealed. Cranes line the water edge, standing elegantly on their long legs and occasionally dipping their beaks when they find something that interests them. I look out over the waters of the South Puget Sound, glistening and sparkling with reflections of the sun on its surface, and see a bald eagle sitting on a tall post jutting out of the water. The eagle leaps from the post and soars across the water, climbing higher into the afternoon sky. My heart goes out and I wish I could soar along with it.
Climbing the hill on the far side of the basin, with the exit we want lying just ahead, I look anxiously ahead. The tops of the fir trees lining the tall embankments sway slightly in an afternoon breeze. I see the Humvee directly behind me trudge up the slope in my rear view. Cresting the hill, I take the exit and turn onto a recently paved road. Passing by two round-a-bouts and taking a side road, I turn into the drive leading to the outdoor store.
The store is hidden by a slope in the long driveway, slowly showing more of itself the closer I get; first the green, metal roof, then the large yellow sign before the reddish-brown, wooden building comes fully into view as we top the small hill. Large paved parking lots encircle the area around the store with light poles set in a scattered pattern throughout. The building exhibits both the feeling of hiding danger behind its walls and one of safety. The danger comes from my experience within buildings and the safety from my thought that this will provide a sanctuary for us.
I pull up to the front of the store, staying back from the covered drive-thru area by the front doors. Four sets of double glass doors, two sets on the left and two on the right, with two large panes of glass between them, make up the front entrance. A small foyer exists inside with a second set of entrance doors identical to the first ones across a small tiled vestibule. My heart leaps into my throat looking at the entrance. Shards of glass litter the wide concrete sidewalk; one of the large panes of glass is broken and very little glass remains in its frame.
“That’s not good,” I say as we all gather on the pavement by the drive-thru.
The familiar pattern of faint footprints, marked by dried blood, lie on the light gray sidewalk, disappearing as they hit the darker gray pavement of the drive. My heart sinks at the sight. I have brought everyone to this place and now it seems like it is occupied. The size of the building makes me believe that multitudes lie within. We have yet to find signs like these into a building where hordes of night runners haven’t lain within. I feel at a loss as to what to do. Thoughts enter of retiring back to the aircraft for the night and the sanctuary it affords. Yes we will have all of the teams available but the risk is great. Looking at the store, I still think this gives us the best option given its size and limited entrance.
“I was really hoping we wouldn’t see something like that,” Gonzalez says, “but, sir, we’ll clean ‘em out right quick.”
I am really thankful for her support and mark of confidence. A quick gust ruffles my clothing and then is gone. The scent feels clean, carrying only the odors of the surrounding grass fields and the evergreens farther away. I am thankful the breeze wasn’t coming from the direction of town as it would probably carry an entirely different scent. We’re here so we may have to fight for our place of refuge. If it gets too bad, we can retreat and find another.
“Thanks. I needed to hear that,” I say turning from the building and the implications the broken glass and footprints indicate. “Henderson, Denton, stay here with the others. Robert, Gonzalez, McCafferty, with me. Bannerman, would you get a measurement on the front doors? We’ll want to put the pull-down security doors on both the inside and outside of both sets of entrance doors. Keep in mind the possibility of using the armory doors in the future.”
Attaching the throat mic and with my “new” M-4 cradled in my arm, I head off to tour the exterior to get an idea of what we are looking at. The building is basically a large rectangular structure with reddish - brown, wooden sides giving it the look of an enormous log cabin. A river-rock wall about three feet high is built up along the sides. Looking by the entrance doors, I notice that the wood and rock wall is built against a sturdier concrete structure.
Robert is at my side, with Gonzalez and McCafferty tailing behind, as we round the first corner. Walking along the long side of the structure, we come across the double glass doors of the side entrance set approximately at the mid-point. The doors are intact and unlocked. This is handy as it will give us the option of having an immediate second exit or entry point for when we go inside.
“Bannerman, there’s another set of doors along the side that I’d like you to measure when you finish,” I say into the radio.
“Will do, Jack,” he responds shortly after.
We continue along the side and round the corner to the shaded rear of the structure. A large, enclosed overhang is set against the building. I nod in appreciation. I was hoping to find this. Walking to the enclosure, I see the open part is secured by a chain link fence across its entirety with a double gate set in the middle. The gate is padlocked. Behind the fence, bolted onto a concrete pad, sit two very large generators. Both have large tanks with a green diesel placard plastered on the exterior.
“Would you two mind heading back and drive one of the Humvees over? Grab the bolt cutters and you’ll find a couple of green hoses in the back of the Jeep. If you could grab those, I’d be most appreciative. Oh, please grab the gas cans there as well,” I say to the two women dressed in black fatigues and tac vests.
“Sure, no prob, sir,” McCafferty says and they trot along the back and disappear around the corner.
“What do you think?” Robert asks referring to the generators.
“I think they ran out of fuel. It could be that the lights might have been left on inside judging from the unlocked doors. If not, then we can check and see if they at least work. Wherever we go, we’ll need power,” I answer.
“Hey, Dad,” Robert says.
